


Doppelganger: Peyton

by rsadelle



Series: Doppleganger [1]
Category: The X-Files, Two Guys a Girl and a Pizza Place
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-06-09
Updated: 1999-06-09
Packaged: 2017-10-28 19:04:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rsadelle/pseuds/rsadelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peyton Ritter meets Michael Bergen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doppelganger: Peyton

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies: To Viridian. Yours is no longer the only page with Two Guys slash, but it was still the first.
> 
> Defense Strategy: Well, somebody had to write it. Or, alternatively, temporary insanity.

It had been a rough week for Berg. Sharon had told Ashley every embarrassing thing she knew about him. And then there was Pete. Pete. His best friend. His roommate. The only person who might be able to help him tear away from Ashley. The man who had abandoned him for a "career" finding jobs for other people. No, that wasn't fair. Pete really loved his new job; it was exactly what he had been looking for, and yet Berg couldn't help feeling abandoned. It had been a bad week. What made it even worse was that it was only Wednesday.

So that was why he was walking into this bar. It wasn't far from the apartment, but he'd never been there before. It wasn't the kind of place college students went. It was the kind of place businessmen went for their end of day martinis or to put the finishing touches on a deal after hours. Berg was out of place, but he didn't care because it meant he wouldn't run into anyone he knew. Except that there, sitting at the bar, was Pete. Only it wasn't Pete: the suit was wrong, there was something not quite right about the way he held himself, and, in some undefinable way, he looked older than Pete did. Berg sat down next to him.

"Scotch. Neat," he told the bartender.

The Pete look-alike turned to him. "Personally, I like mine on the rocks."

"Yeah, well, my life has been on the rocks recently. My drink doesn't need to be there too."

"Ah, yes. Well," he said as Berg's drink arrived, "to lives on the rocks."

"Lives on the rocks," Berg echoed. He raised his glass to clink it against the other man's, then downed most of the scotch in one swallow. He signaled the bartender for another.

"You're drinking quickly."

"Yeah, well, it's been a rough week. I just want to get drunk and stumble home to bed."

The other man raised his eyebrows at Berg. "It's only Wednesday."

"Yeah, tell me about it." Berg smiled bitterly.

"Peyton Ritter." The Pete look-alike, Peyton, held out a hand.

"Michael Bergen. Call me Berg." Berg accepted the proffered hand.

"Well, Berg, I'm not sure your week could have been worse than mine."

"Yes it could. Sharon, one of my best friends, told my girlfriend about all my insecurities and failures. And Pete," Berg paused to take a sip of his drink, "my other best friend, now has a 'career' which means he now has a normal nine to five job and can't work at the pizza place anymore."

"I work for the FBI. I accidentally shot my temporary partner and, as punishment, I'm here doing grunt work the local cops should have done."

Berg winced. "He going to be okay?"

"She. Yeah, she'll be fine."

"Here's to shitty weeks."

"Yeah." Peyton looked at Berg. "Want to get dinner somewhere? My treat."

"Yeah sure." Berg knew he should resist the invitation. He knew that indulging in the bright, sharp pleasure of an evening with another man would only make the next morning worse. Worse because he couldn't do this very often. Worse because he would, eventually, go back to Ashley, or if not her, to some other woman. Worse because it would only remind him of what he couldn't have, of *who* he couldn't have.

But he wanted it, so he let Peyton pay for their drinks and followed him down the street to a small Italian restaurant where neither one of them would stand out. They talked about their lives and sports and music and TV. They lingered over coffee and dessert. And because he wanted it, when Peyton invited him back to his hotel, he offered his apartment instead.

He hushed Peyton as they stumbled through the living room, knowing that Pete was there and trying to let him sleep. He'd never gotten caught at this before and he didn't want this to be the first time.

He took Peyton back to his bedroom and let him touch and taste him even as he touched and tasted this man who looked like Pete, but wasn't. His entire vocabulary narrowed to "more," "harder," "please," and finally, triumphantly, "yes!" as he let Peyton thrust into him and as he finally poured his semen out onto the other man's hand. He snagged a towel from the clutter on his floor and cleaned them both up, then snuggled closer to Peyton, reassuring him that he was welcome to stay the night.

He awoke a few hours later to the feel of Peyton's mouth on his cock. It was heat and suction and then there was a finger sliding back and in and it was perfection and his seed was being sucked down a suddenly perfect throat. He lay panting for a few moments as Peyton's fingers stroked his arm before turning over and returning the favor.

He awoke again a few hours later and turned to the side to stroke his hands over Peyton, enjoying the hardness of his body. He fumbled in the nightstand again and felt Peyton's eyes on him as he smoothed the lube into his body and put the condom onto Peyton. He hissed as he slid down onto Peyton's cock and moaned as he felt Peyton stroke him in time to his thrusts and he cried out as he came.

This time when he settled himself against Peyton's side, into the curve of his arm, he slept peacefully until the morning sun and his alarm clock combined forces to wake him.


End file.
